812
He opensthe door before I knock.
He’s fresh out of the shower with only joggers slung low on his hips and I can see everything he had locked down in that arena sitting right there on his face now that there’s nobody left to perform for. His eyes are red-rimmed and his jaw is doing that clenching thing and his shoulders are up around his ears the way they get when he’s trying to make himself smaller.
“Oh, Zach.”
He steps back and lets me in.
“How did you get away from your mom?”
“She and my dad are going to dinner. Said they’d be back by midnight. She told me to make sure I was back by midnight.”
His eyebrows go up. “Your mom definitely knows about us.”
“Oh, a hundred percent she does.”
“And she doesn’t care?”
“Not even a little bit.” I turn to look at him. He’s got his hands at his sides and I can see him replaying the game behind his eyes, frame by frame, the way he always does. “Do you care?”
He looks at me and gives half a smile. “Not even a little bit.”
I cross the room and his arms come around me before I reach him and then his mouth is on mine and I can feel his shouldersstart to drop, like holding me is the first thing that’s made sense to him since the second period.
I press my hands against his chest and walk him backward until his knees hit the bed and he sits. I’m about to follow him down when he catches both my wrists in one hand and flips us, suddenly I’m on my back and my hands are above my head with his weight pressing me into the mattress and there it is. The quiet. The thing that only happens when he’s the one in control.
Like every spiraling thought I’ve had in the last four hours just got wiped clean and the only thing left is his hand around my wrists and the fact that I can’t move and I don’t want to move and something about that is lighting me up from the inside.
I pull against his grip. Not to get free. To feel him hold tighter.
He does, and everything inside me goes molten, the sound I make is halfway between a whine and a moan.
He lets go immediately. “Sorry, I don’t know why I?—”
“Do it again.”
He stares at me.
“Zach. Put your hands back.”
He takes my wrists again and presses them into the mattress above my head and this time he’s watching my face while he does it. I can feel my back arch up off the bed before I can control it and his hips press me down and I am so turned on I can barely see, which is so weird because this is just his hand on my wrists, this is nothing, this should not be making me feel like this but it IS and holy shit I think I might have a thing for being held down.
His mouth finds my neck and I stop thinking. His other hand is shoving my jeans down my hips and we’re both breathing hard, looking at each other, and I remember something important.
“You have condoms right?”
The look on his face is hilarious. He’s been with me exactly once and he’s already forgotten the only logistical requirement. Ican see him doing the math in real time, running through options, coming up empty.
“I—” He stops. “Fuck.”
“Well.” I look up at the ceiling. “I guess we’re starting on baby number one tonight. Can’t disappoint your teammates.”
The panic that flashes across his face makes me lose it completely. I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe, lying on his hotel bed in my underwear, and he’s sitting there looking between me and the door like he’s genuinely considering making a run for the lobby.
“Mackie—”
“The team is going to be so excited. Rodriguez already picked out names?—”
